Saved and SAINTified, page 25
“This discussion, Nizsm.” Lawrence’s reply was monotone and a slight attitude tickled the words he uttered. During long discussions Osaze had had with him, he’d discovered not only a like for Lawrence, but a similar spiritual kinship. He realized that Lawrence was quite underestimated. His quiet, peaceful demeanor was a farce. He was not void of blood on his hands; he simply did not wish to discuss it.
“So, Lawrence.” Nizsm continued his subtle interrogation. “You are a friend of my cousin’s, yes?”
Osaze watched as Lawrence pulled his strength away, and used it for his own armor before the conversation became deeper.
“Yes.” Lawrence rubbed his hands together, prepared to place them over his heart to help create another barrier—stalling. He needed more time.
“There’s no need for that, Lawrence.” Nizsm leaned back and rubbed his second wife’s leg, gathering the thin, colorful fabric all the way up to her thigh and exposing her brown, bare knee, as if in invitation. An uncomfortable stillness spread throughout.
“Oh, I believe there is, Nizsm. We are trying to talk to you about the situation, but you’ve spent most of the evening trying to dig into our thoughts, to get information about Saint and the baby. I’m requesting that you stay on task. We have come in peace. We wish you no ill will. We would like to come to a compromise.”
“Your proposal is no good, though, Lawrence.” Nizsm continued to casually rub his wife’s leg. He then turned toward her and pushed his tongue in her mouth, while his hand aggressively roamed over her breasts. Osaze cleared his throat and turned away in disgust.
“My father is on his way. He will reiterate the same,” Nizsm finally said as he broke the tongue lock from his spouse. “You stated that Saint will not try to possess the power that comes with the birth of his daughter, but that is impossible. I will be stripped, and our family needs to stay in power, for the people of Egypt. It would be a disservice. And besides, he wouldn’t know what to do with her.” He grimaced.
“The father’s family of the Princess of Life has all of the power over the Angel Children; however, not everyone wants that responsibility, Nizsm. It is a choice to carry out those duties, birthright or not.”
“It is in her!” He slapped the table, temporarily losing his cool. Then, like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, he flashed an award-winning grin and winked at the two men. “Look, gentlemen, I know you mean well.” He cocked his head to the side and caressed his wife’s leg once again. “But as far as I’m concerned, a grave mistake has occurred. It’s just a mistake.” He shrugged and broke out an unpleasant laugh.
“She isn’t a mistake, Nizsm. No grandchild of mine is ever a mistake.”
“You’re right, Osaze. She’s not a mistake, just born of the wrong man.” Osiris’ gruff voice boomed throughout the vast room as he made his grand entrance, his cane clacking against the floor. A faint laugh followed his statement—as well as an ‘all-knowing’ expression on his rawboned face. The older man’s salt and pepper hair and neatly trimmed beard gave him a look of distinction. “It’s been a long while,” Osiris smiled pleasantly at Osaze who stood to greet him.
The older men embraced with genuine respect. Osiris took his seat at the head of the table and surveyed the room. “I apologize for my tardiness; there was a pressing business matter that couldn’t wait.”
A hush carried on the air as he spoke.
Osaze met eyes with Nizsm. Neither man smiled. He hadn’t laid eyes on Osiris in such a long time, it jarred him in ways he hadn’t expected. Once the best of friends from faraway lands, that all changed once he told Osiris that he didn’t approve of how he was running things.
Osaze thought back to those days, the argument that led to an actual fist fight, and though Osiris towered over Osaze at his staggering height of six foot seven, the shorter man prevailed. Osaze was stronger than he—psychically and physically—and the truth had been revealed.
And now, this. His granddaughter was the coveted Princess of Life. The previous one was Osiris’ great-great-grandmother and even though she’d passed, her power reigned on since no one was born to take her place. This had kept their family in complete control over Egypt, for centuries—but now, that position was threatened.
Nizsm stood and bowed at his father, then took his seat again.
“I know all about your son, Osaze,” Nizsm sneered. “I did my research before our meeting this evening. He is from Cherubim blood, like me. I understand that due to that, he may make this difficult. He may have the boldness to try to oppose the world order, to try to derail things. He can have another child—just not this one, and that’s final.”
“You’re threatened by my son.” Osaze’s voice shook. “He is a good man, an honorable man. You, on the other hand, Nizsm, have made such a heinous, unconscionable request. You are evil to your core.”
Nizsm’s smile didn’t hide his evident annoyance. “I’m evil, hmmm? You’re foolish, Osaze. My father has love for you, even after that altercation that you started, I might add, but I do not. You threw his hospitality in his face! You’ve become too emotional. This isn’t personal. This is strictly business.”
“It’s always personal when my flesh and blood is involved. My only child, what is left of my beloved Min Jae.”
Nizsm slapped the table and burst out laughing, so hard he turned ruddy. His wives smiled, as if on cue and invisible puppet strings pulled at the skin of their faces. Osaze scowled at him and the laughter stopping short. Looking like the Devil himself, he honed his gaze on Osaze. “Min Jae? Inferior Asian blood!!! Beloved? You married beneath yourself and created a disaster.”
“We are all equal, Nizsm,” his father corrected, pointing at his son. “Don’t turn this into a racial issue. We don’t discriminate, Nizsm. All Angel Children are chosen.”
“Even if I let her live, she’d be an abomination!” he ranted on, ignoring his father.
Osaze rose from his seat. Lawrence gripped his hand but the older man snatched it away and advanced on Nizsm, feeling no fear. Nizsm and Osiris stood as well, creating a formidable wall between them.
“Come on, Osaze,” Nizsm said in a mere whisper. “You really want to do this? I’ll crush you like a maggot.” He fisted his hands at his side.
Osaze reached him, brewing animosity frothing over from his soul like molten lava. It flowed through him as he stood against Nizsm, nose to nose.
Osaze pushed his finger into Nizsm’s chest. “I will not tolerate you speaking of my late wife that way. I see that this discussion is over. I did as I was supposed to according to bylaws. I came in peace to offer a solution—a promise that Saint would not ignite domination over Egypt, or anywhere else for that matter. You could have considered it, but you have refused it, believing that he will not stand by that, and have insulted me and my family repeatedly this evening. We are done here!”
Osaze turned away and began to make his trek out of the dining room, with Lawrence close behind.
“Osaze, please, old friend, you must understand!” Osiris called out.
Osaze ignored the pleas and walked away with heavy footsteps and a heavy heart. He was getting the hell out of there. He’d done his duty, he’d tried hard, but now, negotiations were dead. He’d hoped and prayed it would’ve ended differently for he knew Saint would show no mercy.
“Osaze!” Nizsm called out. “It’s in Saint’s best interest to come here immediately. I need to speak to your son. You make sure you tell him what I said!”
Osaze stopped just outside the large door to the dining room and turned around. “The fathers have spoken. Osiris and I are finished speaking since he agrees with you. That now leaves you and Saint. You will hear from him when he sees fit,” Osaze said.
“This is not about land or division of property! This is much more serious. Waste time, and see where it lands all of you.”
Osaze blocked him out and continued his steady pace out of the massive room.
“He is the only one I want to speak to from this point on!” Nizsm continued behind him. “I want him on my turf. I want to look him in his eye—man to man. You make sure he knows that, make sure he knows who he is dealing with! He can’t win, he won’t win! This is my world, and I own everyone and everything in it, including Saint Aknaten!”
****
Saint’s feet clacked against the hard wooden floor as he descended down the extended hall. Passing black, thin-framed interracial advocacy posters and wide octagon shaped windows, he drew closer to his office with a blasé attitude. He shrugged.
“That’s fine,” he muttered.
“I don’t think you understand how serious this is.”
Lawrence walked by his side and joined Saint inside of his office. Sweet floral scented breeze drifted from a cracked window. He closed and locked the door. “Saint, your father and I spent over four hours trying to reason with him and his father. We could see who was in charge between the two.” Lawrence shook his head. “I told you all of this on the phone. The man is insane!”
“He’s not insane. He is drunk with power and corruption—there is a difference. He knows full well what he is doing. Saying he is insane lets him off the hook.”
Saint took his seat behind his desk and began to rifle through the desk drawers, overturning an assortment of office supplies, white security envelopes and mini-notebooks with handwritten notes.
Lawrence sighed, sat down and stretched his legs. “So what now?”
Saint stopped what he was doing and gave him a cold glare. “You already know. I’m going to Egypt. What do you mean, what now? This shit is a no brainer.” The noise of rustling items returned when he resumed moving papers to and fro, the futile search adding to his annoyance.
“Saint, you can’t. He just wants to get you there to size you up and figure out how to destroy you and the baby. Make him come to you!”
“Not on your life. I don’t want him anywhere near my family. I will let him have courtside advantage. I’m not afraid of him, Lawrence.”
Saint calmed when he found what he was looking for. He picked up the iPod, placed it on his desk and plugged in the external speakers. Lawrence watched in confusion.
Saint scrolled through and selected, “I Ain’t No Joke” by Eric B and Rakim. Lawrence grinned and looked down at his lap, shaking his head. Saint bobbed and bounced, lost in the strong, loud bass of the melody that vibrated throughout the office. Lawrence laughed as he watched him sway to the beat.
“So, more Hip Hop, huh? You look funny dressed in that Armani suit, bumping rap music.”
“That’s right, and for the record, Hip hop and rap aren’t the same. This right here is real Hip Hop. Whether I’m in my Nikes, Timbs or a tux—this right here is genuine. It’s my self-promotion.” He rolled his neck and smirked. “It’s ’bout to go down!”
“Oh boy, here we go. Saint, don’t get crazy. What are you thinking of doing?”
“I’m getting ready for ya boy. It’s my fight music, you know, like when a boxer walks out, right before he gets in the ring?” He grinned, not an indication of joy, but one built on the strong desire to tear someone from limb to limb. It would be downright delicious. “I’m not going to Cairo alone. I’m bringing New York with me. He can walk like an Egyptian, write his hieroglyphics and continue sending pussy-ass threats my way via my father and you, but I’m going to walk in like a mothafuckin’ B-Boy, spray my graffiti on his soul and fuck ... him ... up, South Bronx style, baby! Get ready for the boom bat, Nizsm.”
Saint reached into another desk drawer, pulled out a cherry cigar and lit it. He leaned back in his chair, grinning as the smoky loops escaped in the air.
“They think that I'm a new jack, but only if they knew that – They who think wrong, are they who can't do that!” Rakim rapped.
“You talk so much shit, Saint.” Lawrence shook his head. “But, I know this time you mean it.” He drummed the arm of the chair and grinned.
Saint smirked. “It’s nothing, Lawrence. You were afraid of the bastard, I can understand that, but I’m not—not by a long shot. Weak ass mothafucka ... he can’t see me.” Saint continued to bob his head, working himself up as smoke now filled the immediate air around him in a thick, eerie fog. “He wants to meet me? Big daddy? Ha! Mano y mano?” He laughed. “Fine. Shit won’t go as he planned. He better chat it up with that damn Mr. Wizard, dungeons and dragons, white robe Rocky Balboa lookin’ mothafucka...”
“Stop! You’re killin’ me!”
“...cracked crystal ball and sloppy tarot card readin’ ass ... damn Oracle, Miss Cleo lookin’ ass. None of that shit will help him.”
Lawrence had practically lost it. He ran his hands down his face. Tears streamed from his eyes and he doubled over.
“Because fuckin’ with me,” Saint blew out another stream of perfectly formed smoke rings, “is like screwin’ a blind chick, man. She never see ya cummin’!”
****
One week later...
“So it’s down to two,” Jagger explained as he poured an obscene amount of sugar into his steaming black coffee.
Saint watched the white compact crystals snow from the clear container into the awaiting dark, hot liquid. He tapped his fingers along the restaurant table as they remained quiet. The smell of scrambled eggs, bacon and fried chicken filled the diner. It was three in the morning, and they both were visibly tired as they laid back on the red, split foam, and partially duct-taped booth seats. The secret meeting had been scheduled in advance at the eatery—a twenty-four hour greasy spoon off of Crenshaw. Maybe due to paranoia on Saint’s part, but he didn’t want it at the office and here, despite the time of day and neighborhood, he felt strangely safe and at peace.
“Down to two,” Saint repeated as he tapped the mug filled with watered down cinnamon tea. “What are their names?”
“Hill and Brooks.”
“Hmmm ... interesting.” Saint chewed his lip as he continued to stare down into his cup. “Brooks is a different one. Something about him has always rubbed me the wrong way. He came in right before James’ passed away. I didn’t screen him; he came in through the committee. Do you have any idea how the mole has been blocking?”
“I don’t think it is an intentional block. He is in information collection mode, so nothing would tip us off unless we were searching for it,” Jagger laughed lightly, “like we are now. I highly doubt anyone in there, ’cept Lawrence, knows what you are though—what we are, I should say.”
“You know what?” Saint took a sip of his tea. “James and George had told me a while back about a situation that happened years ago, in the ’70s. A government official, his name escapes me, found out about the group. It was in its infancy, but the guy was racist and threatened to sing like a bird. He was also involved in some organized crime and other crap. Anyway, at the time, that sort of thing upset James because he was just getting everything off the ground and he didn’t want to risk his career, but then just like that,” Saint snapped his fingers, “The guy was gone, like a ghost.”
“Did he leave on his own accord, you think?”
“I don’t know. They never heard from the guy again,” Saint picked up a spoon and tapped it lightly against his cup, “but James always felt like the man got away, so the fear always hung over their shoulder, you know? I have a nagging feeling that that situation is somehow wrapped with this one.” He set the spoon down, and sat further back in the slumped booth. “I felt it even stronger a couple of days ago.”
Jagger nodded. “Sounds plausible. I’ve had a hunch it was government related but wanted to delve deeper before telling you my suspicions.”
“So, here is the deal.” Saint slapped his palms on the curled and worn burnt orange placemat. “I need to leave. I have to go out of town. I’m going to...”
“Egypt.”
“Yeah, Egypt. So, what I will do is...”
“Can I tell you something?” Expression serious, Jagger leaned over the table and ran his hand roughly back and forth over his buzzed haircut.
“What?” Saint dug in his pocket and pulled out a pack of gum, quickly unwrapped a piece and tossed it into his mouth.
“I don’t know everything that’s going on, but...”
“Good. You’re not supposed to. It’s personal.”
“Well, if you tell me more, I can help you. Stop blocking. I can tell you what I do know. You’re going to need some help if you are...”
“Jagger, stick to what you’re doing and stay out of this,” Saint snapped as he pushed back in his booth seat. He picked up a toothpick and twirled it anxiously between his forefinger and thumb.
“Come on, Saint! Are you still hot about our initial meeting? We’ve had so many conversations since then. I thought we squashed that, man?” Jagger rested his cupped hands on the table, a look of near dejection on his face.
“We did.”
“Well then, why the blocking and giving me the cold shoulder? Lawrence won’t even tell me why he had to go to Egypt, but obviously it is something involving you.” He scratched at his five o’clock shadow.
“Because the less you know, the safer you stay. Lawrence got cut off as well. I can’t afford for anyone to be read by this person. You could accidentally put my family in jeopardy. I have to deal with this man solo from this point on. It’s best that I keep him as contained as possible.” Saint moved his gum to the side of his mouth, then took another sip from his cup.
“Okay, but I’m a blocker. That’s one of my calling cards, Saint. You know that now! You tested me. You found out I can block with the best of ’em.” Jagger counted his fingers as he laid out each point. “I’m good. When I set up a fortress, no one can get in. I’m an awesome stealth reader. I can also infiltrate thoughts, and do false programming as well as erasures, even when aggressively blocked.”
“You’re not as good as a fully developed deaf mute though.”
“You know a deaf mute?” Jagger asked with wonder.
